


The Creeping Cold

by Parthenos



Series: To grow into and become Frost [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Elvhenan Culture and Customs, F/M, Orginally set in elvhenan, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Sharing a Bed, Very VERY loose with established lore, Young Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), hey solas is a dumb puppy but we, it gets to inquisition but not for a while, lots of made up lore, love em
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parthenos/pseuds/Parthenos
Summary: The story begins like most, with a battle.The Evanuris have beaten Falon'Din bloody in his own temple, temporarily subduing him from his attempts to gain more power. A newly ascended Fen'Harel returns to his brand new fortress to meet a very perplexing spirit of Frost who wants to know more about the goings on of the world. He doesn't know why he is so drawn to it, nor why Wisdom is so insistent he help it gain a body.He doesn't know that this spirit-turned-elvhen will remain, at times, his closest and only companion through his years of fighting, and eventually his years of deception. If only it would stop calling him Puppy, he may even grow to love her. One day.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Solas & Original Female Character(s), Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To grow into and become Frost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792630
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. A prologue, of sorts, and a beginning, of others.

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, it is safe to assume that all speech is in ancient elvhen. Names are also in elvhen, but described when they are more of a title (IE Pride, over Solas, in this case calling him pride is a little bit of a dig, but it’s more of an emphasis on inflection in the words) Wisdom is both called Wisdom and Sileal, depending on who is addressing her. Frost is the same, but as of yet no-one is close enough to call her by her given name. 
> 
> Also: Frost will be part of Lavellan, in the future! No pesky love triangles there.

The People had been calling it the Golden Age. Not… an unfitting title, Fen’Harel supposed. The Evanuris were bloated with power, and used it freely to build cities of crystal that rose high in the sky, gilded and beautiful. Falon’Din, however, had recently become  _ too _ bloated (though by what qualifiers made it such, he wondered, to put Falon’Din’s greed above their  _ own _ , in terms of exorbinance?) and the other Evanuris had gathered as one power, simultaneously swinging the cudgel to crush him. Such uprisings were not uncommon between them, the nine great powers of the world (he was loathe to count himself, due to his newly acquired power, and newer still authority among them), and such responses were also swift, merciless. Currently, Falon’Din licked his wounds and (presumably) plotted once more to gain more power than he already held. Fen’Harel couldn’t really be bothered to care, though, as Falon'Din’s questing missions kept him far from his newly gifted mountain fortress, ensconced near Mythal’s holdings. He certainly pitied Falon’Din’s people though, knowing that the brunt of his anger would be left for them. 

In the current moment, however, Fen’Harel wanted only one thing. A nap. 

Sileal had often mocked him for his petulancy upon returning from battles. It often called him Da’len when he was within Mythal’s personal ranks as a soldier, laughing when he returned from skirmishes to fall immediately into bed and ignore all demands for a report until he’d had a good rest. He would fall into the Dreaming and re-gather his strength, waking in a few hours and giving his reports. If, however, his sleep was interrupted by a more persistent demand for information, Fen’Harel was known to be short with others, even Mythal herself, until his need for rest was sated. A quirk of his personality that Sileal mercilessly teased him for, much to his ire. Fen’Harel couldn’t  _ help _ needing sleep to replenish himself, it was common for those who had once been spirits. The Dreaming replenished them, long after they had been made flesh. 

So when Fen’Harel walked through his eluvian, still wet with the blood of needlessly lost lives from those under the whim of a power-crazed mage seeking adulation, into his room, his exhaustion was bone deep. He fell upon the chaise lounge placed next to the magical device-it had been put there for this soul purpose; when tiredness took him and he couldn’t be bothered to undress before entering dreams. 

But even as his mind fogged with fatigue, Fen’Harel thought to his reluctant comrades at arms. The Evanuris rarely agreed on anything, but when one of them overstepped, a price must be paid, however unwilling. Andruil and Elgar’nan had been eager to fight, the latter offended that Falon’Din dared to try and steal more power, the former excited, as always, at the concept of a hunt. Ghilan’nain, Sylaise, and June cared little for the conflict (though Sylaise was enraged at his deceitful tactics for power, and henceforth convinced her husband to fight) but mercilessly deployed their troops against his hold in the Planasene forest, and Mythal, the great protector (as her own people so called her) had managed to turn his own  _ twin  _ to her side (or rather, the side of the other reigning powers) to crush his scramblings for additional power. Fen’Harel, still more than allegiant to Mythal, defended his own actions (to himself, to be entirely honest) on wanting to be along for the ride, and the fact that if he  _ didn’t _ side against Falon’Din, it would be assumed that he  _ supported _ the megalomaniac, a notion that, to Fen’Harel, simply would not stand. 

So in his weary state, it was absolutely fair that Fen’Harel did not take immediate notice of the strange presence in his chambers. His mind was not alert, and he wanted to put the matter of Falon’Din, his foolish actions, and the unneeded sacrifice of his people, behind him. Truly, the only thing that kept Fen’Harel from falling into slumber was the unusually cold room. It was not abnormal that his rooms were cold; his entire fortress was cold, as it should be, ensconced in the frostback mountains as it was. Groggily, he opened his eyes to see if the hearth had gone cold, only to finally notice the intruder. 

Fen’Harel sat up, exhaustion melting from him in the wake of curiosity. For it was not another Elvhen in his chambers (his people knew better than to barge in, lest they interrupt a tryst, or, more importantly, a nap), but a spirit. A spirit who lingered near the glass doors that lead to his balcony, creating designs of creeping frost on them. He was momentarily enraptured by the patterns appearing and disappearing on the cold surface, seeing faces, places, and even what could be entire stories played out in spiraling layers of cold. But his enrapturement  _ was _ only momentary, and irritation at the notion of an interrupted respite quickly took over his wonderment at the spirit’s actions. 

“What has brought you to my holdings, friend?” For Fen’Harel may be petulant when sleepy, but no-one could truly call him  _ rude _ (at least, not to his face). And even through his irritation, he knew the spirit harbored no ill will, simply because spirits did not have the capacity for it. 

The being moved away from the window, and Fen’Harel noticed it had no defined form: something more rare in spirits in recent days, and  _ much _ more common to those far beyond his own age. Even  _ he _ had assumed the shape of an Elvhen when he served under Mythal; in fact, he had specifically shaped his form to be pleasing to her. It was of little surprise that she had crafted him a body, and less surprise still that it was nearly identical to what he had looked like before. Spirits of Pride were known to be vain, but such was their natures. He was simply aided by the fact that Elvhen were no less vain than their counterparts, especially when choosing companions. The spirit drifted closer to him, bringing the cold with it. 

“Have you come from the Dreaming to meet me?” He asked, shivering involuntarily. 

“I… Yes. There has been great disquiet in the Dreaming of late, and though I usually leave such matters to Curiosity and Wisdom, this place is near where I dwell, and the opportunity to sate my curiosity was too great to pass up.” The spirit spoke in a feminine voice, clear, but cutting, much like the first whiff of winter in the air. “You feel different from other mortals I have met, which was another point of curiosity. I also like it here; your fortress feels much like my home.” 

Fen’Harel, always interested by those who sought wisdom, smiled and sat up from his ungainly sprawl on the chaise. 

“I imagine the Dreaming  _ has _ been disquieted. Large-scale events often disrupt the natural pattern of things. Would you like to hear more of the cause?” The spirit’s aura flared. Solas smirked, for the curiosity of it was endearing. His sudden affection for it was cut off though, when it snapped at him in a frigid tone.

“You speak as if  _ I _ would be unaware of how the Dreaming works, Ser. And I would think my intent of seeking you for information was obvious, especially with how I  _ explained _ as much moments ago.” Fen’Harel bristled at the spirit’s prickly tone, but reminded himself that language was often nuanced, and this spirit did not see a need to filter words, and, perhaps, that his condescension was a bit unnecessary. 

“My… apologies. A friend has often told me that when I am tired my nature can be… somewhat trying. Before I explain what has so disturbed the Dreaming, I would ask what manner of spirit you are,” He couldn’t stop the petty addition, “if you’d be so willing to grant me such a  _ secret _ .” Fen’Harel thought that, if this spirit had possessed such features as eyebrows, they would be raised. He would not regret his tone though, as the spirit  _ had _ entered his fortress without warning, and  _ had _ caught him before a restorative sleep,  _ and _ had not introduced itself (not that he had, but really, this was  _ his _ fortress, wasn't it?).

“I am Frost. As much should be obvious, or did you assume that your fortress had simply grown several degrees colder..naturally? Or the ice on your windows, that I was clearly manipulating, just...what, spontaneously formed in the middle of summer?” Fen’harel was once again prickled by Its tone, but shrugged off offense. A spirit of Frost was interesting; he had never encountered one before, while he lived in the Dreaming or otherwise. Such primordial spirits were indeed old, and incredibly rare to encounter. Many chose to remain deep in the Dreaming, satisfied with the natural order of the world and seeing no need to interfere, and few others had taken bodies (quite literally) and become what were now the most powerful beings in the world. If Fen’Harel remembered correctly, Mythal herself has once been a spirit of Fire, and her husband Light. Modern folklore told tales of Elgar’nan putting the sun in the sky, and Mythal lighting it. Such tales were folly, of course, but the slaves spread them anyway, only further solidifying the power the two used to rule. If the spirit was not leading him astray (which, he supposed it  _ could _ in theory, but spirits rarely, if ever, lied), then Fen’Harel was speaking to a creature so rare, and  _ powerful _ , that his fellow “gods” would be jealous to the point of violence. If any of them had access to the power this spirit held, any civil war would be unfairly balanced in their favor. 

“I… have never met one of your nature,” He ventured, “but am honored by it. I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am quite pleased to make your acquaintance.” The spirit, Frost, flickered in acknowledgment. 

“Solas… ah,  _ Pride _ . I see now why I was drawn to you. My closest relative, I suppose the term would be, is Despair, and Despair and Pride are often close companions. It is little wonder that I am comfortable here, with one such as yourself.” Fen’Harel, no,  _ Solas _ smiled then, and nodded with interest. 

“Please, friend, settle yourself comfortably. I am happy to explain what has disturbed your rest.” He himself adjusted his seating among his cushions, and began to weave the tale.

“If you have been cognizant of the recent happenings in Thedas, then I am sure that you have heard of the Evanuris. Perhaps you even know some of them, as their natures were once similar to yours. Mythal was once a great spirit of Fire, and her husband, Elgar’nan, of Light. Thousands of years ago, they possessed two Elvhen, hoping to experience the world they helped shape first-hand. They married, as who could possibly understand their natures but each other, and had four children. These children had incredible power, and their connection to the Dreaming was incredible, but unsurprising given their lineage. The first was Andruil, a woman drawn to hunting and exploring. The second was Sylaise, who adored the People and found comfort in providing them with all of their needs, in hearth and home. Their final two children were twins, Dirthamen and Falon’Din. The twins did everything together, and found interest only in themselves.” Solas knew his words were heretical, but in the comfort of his own home he felt no need to sugarcoat them. If he was going to tell the tale of his people, and how they so thoroughly disturbed one who  _ must _ have been sheltered deep in the Dreaming, he would so tell it truthfully.

“Their children grew in power, and were soon regarded as great generals under their parents, then kings, and then, finally, as Gods. During this time, Andruil met a huntress of great beauty, one who would create monsters for her to exclusively hunt, to whom she offered apotheosis. Sylaise had met a spirit of Creativity whom she found incredibly interesting, and he created a body for himself to live at her side, a feat no other has managed in recorded history. He too, was offered apotheosis, as a reward for his feat, and ruled by Sylaise’s side as her husband.”

“And you?” Frost interjected, confirming Solas’s suspicions that she was unaware of the current world state. “You have incredible power, that much is clear from your Aura. Also, seeing as how you are covered in blood and speak of these beings as if you know them, I must assume you do. From the sound of your explanation already, this will be a long tale, I may as well learn all of the stories at once.” 

“I was once a spirit of Pride, as you know, and was a close confidant of Mythal. She kept me as an advisor, and as our time together grew longer, she asked that I take a body. These markings on my face, they are her branding, a way for her to execute her will through me. I was, and am, her most trusted General.” Solas gestured to the branch like markings that adorned the upper half of his face. “I am known for my cleverness, and as such, my trickster ways. I often fight in the form of a great wolf, at the side of Mythal. Hence my title, Fen’Harel. An insult, as the other Evanuris do not believe I have earned my right to walk among them, despite having served at Mythal’s side, as they all once did.” 

“How I didn’t guess your nature before you told me your name is shameful on my part, you are certainly prideful in your boasting.” Frost muttered. Solas studiously ignored it. 

“As I mentioned, these markings on my face bind me to the will of Mythal. They are called vallaslin- each of the Evanuris has a different pattern that they bestow on the face of their followers. The vallaslin are a geas, a power that Elgar’nan discovered in the days of old by tattooing an elvhen servant with his own blood, binding him completely to his will. The practice has been taken grossly advantage of by Elgar’nan and his children, they bind thousands to their will as slaves, and today only few can escape the will of the Evanuris.” The spirits aura crackled, startling Solas from his tale. 

“And Mythal? She doesn’t bind those to her as slaves? Are  _ you _ , Pride, not clearly a slave? Under her command?” Solas looked at her in consternation. 

“As I said,  _ Elgar’nan  _ and his  _ children  _ have used them in such a way. Mythal is  _ above  _ their base ways, all of her people are there voluntarily, and wear her marks with pride, 

he paused,

“and  _ love. _ ” 

“But this is not a story about Mythal,  _ or _ myself. This is a story of Falon’Din. Falon'Din's appetite for adulation is so great, he recently began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied us, once the shadow of Falon'Din's hunger stretched across her own people. We were almost too late. Falon'Din only surrendered when we bloodied him in his own temple.” 

“I am surprised you did not kill him, in recompense for the lives he took in his quest for glory.” The spirit said with a bitter inflection. Solas let out a harsh laugh.

“Those who would not bow were not the people the Evanuris  _ care  _ about. Pilgrims, common people. Only when their own  _ property _ are threatened do they take action.” His own voice was bitter, and  the spirit flickered curiously at his obvious passion on the matter.  “It was their deaths, and the battle with Falon’Din that caused such a disturbance in the Dreaming. It has been long since there was such pointless bloodshed.”

“Long, but not unheard of?” 

“No. Andruil specifically glories in the spilt blood of those around her. She is known as the goddess of the hunt. I mentioned her beloved, before. Ghilan’nain was once a well known huntress among her people. But she did not simply hunt; she had the ability to create  _ monsters _ , creatures that could decimate villages. Cities. Andruil grew tired of hunting simple game, and then tired of hunting her own people, who begged for her to stop. She met Ghilan’nain, who offered to create her unique prey. Andruil proposed that she make her prey for a year, and if they satisfied, she would elevate Ghilan’nain as a god. Ghilan’nain kept her promise, creating monsters of the air, sea, and land. The creatures created such destruction, and such fun for Andruil, that it took Mythal herself begging Ghilan’nain to cease her creation and take the offered godhood. In exchange, Ghilan'nain destroyed most of the monsters, sparing only some monsters of air that she presented to Andruil as a gift, some deep sea creatures  and a creature made of snow and horns, called the Halla.” 

Frost wondered at these creatures, and considered that she may feel a kinship to creatures made of snow, as well. 

“While the loss of such creatures is regrettable, I don’t think their loss would have a great impact on the Dreaming. Perhaps the places they destroyed, but such wanton destruction has occurred before, and has not caused such a rippling among my home.” Frost mused. Solas nodded, but continued. 

“It was not these creatures that likely affected the Dreaming, but what came next after they disappeared. Andruil had lost her greatest prey, creatures specifically designed to match her in skill. The love for challenging hunts even made Andruil stalk  [ the Forgotten Ones ](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/The_Forgotten_Ones) in the Abyss, something that ultimately drove her mad. Andruil put on armor made of the Void  and made weapons of darkness. She brought plague to her lands and howled things meant to be forgotten. Finally, Mythal successfully challenged her and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void, as well as stealing her madness. The plague she brought devastated her people to a place of near extinction, and their loss of life affected even the Beyond, so I have little doubt the dreaming felt repercussions as well.” 

“It certainly did, my friend.” A new voice spoke. Solas looked up sharply, and the spirit of frost flickered once more in place. Solas had not seen a spirit do this before, but he supposed the primordial spirits could function quite differently from the spirits he knew within the Dreaming. It seemed to be a reaction of emotion, one that embodied their entire incorporeal form. He supposed even spirits could be startled by unannounced guests. Sileal had entered his chambers through the western wall, presumably coming to check on him after his recent battle. It was, to be fair, the only being who would comfortably interrupt his rest, save for Mythal. He grinned at his old friend. 

“I see you’ve come to disturb my rest as well?” The spirit, shaped as an Elvhen woman, chuckled at him. 

“When do I not? It seems all you do these days is sleep, old friend.” There was an undercurrent of concern in its voice, one that was familiar and not unappreciated. “But I see that you have a guest! It has been a very long time, Frost.” 

The spirit of frost flickered once more, in acknowledgement, Solas supposed. 

“Yes. I am learning of how the Elvhen people are seemingly are destroying one another, and, in turn, my rest.” Sileal laughed once again. 

“Perhaps it is time you re-enter the waking, my friend. You have missed much, and I cannot imagine after learning what you have you wish to return to being ignorant? There is much to learn from the People in these times and,” Sileal glanced at Solas, “even more to learn in the coming days.” 

“After learning what little I have, I am unsure if joining the Waking is smart, or if I will just be perverted for the power these mortals so thirstily seek. I would not have my essence corrupted, and wandering in this form will do little other than tempt them. Imagine if Light got a hold of me? From what I hear he has become quite the tyrant.” Solas could not argue this point, though he was distinctly beginning to feel left out of the conversation. Sileal flicked her eyes to him, and he saw something in them harden. 

“There is, of course, one way to guarantee your power not be perverted.” Sileal said. “You could take a mortal form. I believe it would benefit you, and to be entirely honest,” It moved to settle beside Solas, “I believe my friend could use your help.” 

Frost’s aura seemed to explode in curiosity, as Solas exclaimed, “I have no  _ need _ for help, Sileal! You know this just as well as I, and even if I did, I cannot support the possession of another, especially if it were to create a  _ new _ Evanuris!” The spirit laid a hand on his arm, and a feeling of calm washed over him. 

“I was not suggesting you sacrifice one of your people to give it a body, Pride. You have recently gained an enormous amount of power, and have few ways to use it. You claim that you would like to keep the extent of it hidden from the Evanuris, and so cannot commit large acts of magic, but  _ this _ could be an opportunity- creating something from nothing, and gaining an incredible ally in the process.” Solas paused in his frustration, and turned to look at his old friend. 

“Even as such, an expelling of power that great would affect the Dreaming, and would not go unnoticed. I have no desire for such attentions to be on me at this time. If I am to achieve my goals, then they must think I am weak, and not expelling large amounts of energy on… crafting a body for a  _ primordial spirit _ who could, in many of their cases,  _ absolutely crush them _ .” 

Neither god nor spirit noticed the flickering of Frost’s form. Feelings of conflict built in its aura, finally exploding throughout the room, covering every surface, every window, and one would-be god in a fine layer of, well, frost. 

“Since you both seemed content to argue among yourselves, I believe the time for  _ my _ opinion is here.” It’s tone was both frigid and reprimanding, and both Sileal and Solas cringed in shame. “I am still unsure if a  _ body _ would do me any good, and even if it  _ would _ I am unsure of wanting to stay  _ awake _ in these times at all! My own kin have stolen bodies and corrupted those around them, their  _ children _ are, seemingly, insane, and there are beings called the  _ forgotten ones _ that I haven't even…  _ heard of? _ ” Solas considered this, but it did make sense that if the spirit had been slumbering long enough to not know of the Evanuris, then it would also not know of the more malevolent gods.

“That is… another story that could have affected the Dreaming, I suspect,” he said, calmly, “but I believe we have greatly upset you. I would ask forgiveness for our oversight of your… feelings, I suppose.” Sileal removed her incorporeal touch from his arm, and a new wave of exhaustion hit him, and Solas slumped against the, now slightly damp, pillows. “I would, however, like to sleep at some point soon, seeing as I have reports to make to my own people, and to Mythal in the near future. Frost, perhaps it would be best for you to return to the Dreaming for now, and we could revisit this discussion another time.” Sileal nodded at this solution, and drifted towards the clearly conflicted spirit. 

“I could show you memories of the forgotten ones in the interim, if you would like, while he sleeps. Perhaps a different perspective can give you more information about this time, and you can come closer to a decision on what to do next.” Sileal smiled at the spirit. “I would also be happy to inform you of our plans, and why joining forces with us could be… well, beneficial to you, but to the People as well.” 

The spirit of Frost seemed to regard Solas before he felt a wave of arctic magic over his form. When he looked down, the blood that had previously been drying on his armor was gone. 

“I certainly hope your plans are less bloodsoaked than you are, Pride. I will return to speak with you again,” Solas could almost see a smirk in the amorphous gathering of light and frost.

“Sleep well.”

  
  



	2. Breaking the ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I play fast and hard with canon, add some theories, and let Frost learn the lore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long this took to update- my beta finished weeks ago, I've just been in a house with no AC for over ten days in the peak of summer where I live (the American South, hotter than satans asshole) and have been using my energy to apply for graduate school (fingers crossed!), but updates should be more regular from here on out; the outline is done up to chapter 23, so we've got a good chunk coming. Frost will definitely be more... fleshed out (wink) in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy! Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are also always appreciated! Love y'all!

Sileal guided Frost to it’s space in the Dreaming with ease of a spirit who made the trip often with companions. Frost couldn’t help but be impressed; as carrying another, especially one that had easily a thousand times more power than oneself, through the Dreaming was no simple task. Frost knew it was a heavy burden, cumbersome in movement after, apparently, millennia in the far reaches of the Dreaming, and attempted to extend its aura to refresh Sileal in it’s labor. 

“Oh! That’s-” The spirit had ceased moving and turned to Frost in shock, “that’s not really done, anymore, my friend.” 

“Since the rise of the Evanuris, and the fall of the People, practices of aura-sharing have dwindled to all but none. The common people are not encouraged to use enough of their magic to need replenishment, lest they be attempting to hurt their” a tone of distinct disgust, “masters, and the act of replenishing one another has become more of a… bedroom act, I suppose, due to how personal it is, and how taboo.” 

This, to Frost, was ridiculous. The People should have nearly limitless amounts of power, no matter their class. It couldn’t be possible that they were told to simply not use it- that would be like telling It, a primordial spirit of frost, to not lower the temperature of the air around it: a subconscious act it had almost no control over. “That’s insane, Sileal. It isn't as if the people don’t have the power, they should be using it to grow! Not be caged in by warmongering ‘gods’ telling them lies of their power limits. Have the People truly fallen so low?”

Sileal looked at Frost, devastation writ across its face. “That is what I must tell you of now, friend. The tale of the Forgotten ones is not pretty, and it is still one of the cruelest things to have befallen the people.”

Frost realized there were now several spirits among them in this little corner of the Dreaming. The scenery changed from lush fields and distant crystal spires. Fire seemed to rage around them. Screams, children’s screams, permeated the air. Frost watched as the earth dried and cracked, as if the life itself was being sucked from it. Sileal allowed Frost to take in the surroundings, and their fellow spirits began to take the forms of nine Elvhen, standing in a closely huddled group. 

“Their story is much like that of the Evanuris. Very old spirits took it upon themselves to steal bodies from the Elvhen, but rather than giving the People light, justice, and creativity… they gave them famine, disease, terror, spite, malevolence…” Frost watched as the group was converged upon by a group similar in number. “And war.” 

The group of nine drew power from the land, Frost saw, sucking the fields dry and leaving the earth barren, but even then, when the fighting began, it was clearly not enough. The opposing force, faces painted in garish shades of red (she wondered if it wasn’t blood) clearly had the upper hand. It was only when Solas’s shout of pain echoed through the space that Frost realized that these must be the Evanuris fighting. 

“The Forgotten Ones are called as much because their true name, the Sou’silairmor, was banned from being spoken for fear of summoning them. Anaris, Geldauran, and Daern’thal were the beginning. They were not primordial spirits of nature like you, or Mythal, or Elgar’nan. They were beings created from the People themselves, from hatred, and conflict, and worry. Due to their nature, they sought more of what made them, and created others like them.” One of the larger, red-faced spirits had what looked to be a young elvhen woman (perhaps Ghilan’nain?) in a tight grip, squeezing her neck so tightly Frost almost believed it would pop off. “Gaxkang, Imshael, and Xebenkeck came first. They were much less powerful than their creators, but had just as little mercy.”

Another Elvhen woman roared, throwing herself onto the larger Elvhen, disrupting his grip on the girl. She stabbed her knives into the eyes of the creature, then pulled them out and attempted to stab through its ears, but she was thrown off. Frost supposed this could be Andruil, protecting her love. 

“Urthemiel and Zazikel were born during the first Great War between the Sou’silairmor and the Evanuris. Beings of chaos and vanity. It was with their birth that the Evanuris realized they needed more. More power, more control, if they were ever to hope to win the fight.” 

The screams stopped, and the fighters disappeared, leaving the original nine. 

“And if they wanted a world to come back to after the fighting, they mustn’t steal it’s vitality. So they stole the vitality of those that were disposable.” A sharp sense of horror ran through Frost. 

“You cannot be serious- they couldn’t have, not from the People!” But Sileal just nodded, and gestured listlessly to the group. Frost watched as they formed a rune, as one, on the earth, and felt the air around them shudder with power. 

Power that belonged not to these nine, but to the people who served them. The people who should have been able to cast magic for years, decades, without cease, now reduced to paltry weeks at a time, perhaps for some, only days. The enormity of the violation rocked Frost to its core, revulsion sharp and hot. The feeling was unfamiliar, and horrifying, for Frost knew suddenly how its closest relative felt. Despair followed the heat, heavy and dripping over its form. How could spirits like It, like its family, have destroyed the People so thoroughly? 

“Why did they not stop them before they gained such a hold? Surely they would have sensed spirits like us stealing bodies, it had to have shaken the Dreaming in a familiar way to them! How could they have let this happen!?” 

Sileal’s look was pitying. “Friend… even with all my knowledge, I am not omnipotent. I do suspect that they assumed such creatures like themselves would join them in ruling, or submit. At times, it seems even possible that they allowed the Sou’silairmor to grow in power, simply to gain a firmer hold on the People beneath them. Unless you plan on asking them, I doubt you’ll get a clear answer on their true motivations, and I suspect if they realize more of their own yet live…” 

Frost felt comprehension dawning on them. And then, anger.

“This is why you want me to take a body. You are afraid they will do something like this again, steal more from the People until there is nothing left. You want me to gather my remaining brethren and lead them into battle against tyrannical, corrupted spirits, gorged on power beyond recognition.” Frost flickered indignantly, beginning to take the shape of an Elvhen person, if only to gesticulate in anger. “Lead my siblings to a suicide mission to what, weaken these ‘gods’ so they may be killed? Sileal, I take you for many things, but never for a fool! Such is against your nature, and I struggle to believe you actually think that could work! There is no wisdom in this plan!” 

Sileal strode closer and grasped at Frost’s newly formed arms. 

“That is not what I am asking of you, I am not trying to hurt you! I… I’m trying to save you.” Sileal shook Frost. “I am not asking you to lead an army, or even to fight, you must take a body, or you will die. I am not afraid the Evanuris will do something like this again, because they have already begun to.

“When, Frost, was the last time you visited one of your siblings? You have been so deeply tucked into the Dreaming, you haven’t even been able to see what’s happened with the People- but the Evanuris seek power like moths to flames, and with the idea that more like them could cross from the Dreaming to their world, possibly amass power as they had? They would not stand for it. And so they took precautions.” 

Frost ripped from Sileals hold. 

“What precautions could they possibly have made!? Are you seriously insinuating that spirits like myself systematically killed their own to steal their power? That is not in our nature! We are supposed to be pillars of balance, not of raw, unadulterated power!” 

Sileal shook its head. “Perhaps that is not in your nature, Frost, but they have changed. They have found a place in the world where power can fulfil any desire, and when they took bodies, desire was fresh and new- they wanted, for the first time, and taught such want to their offspring. From what you have learned of them so far, does it really seem so unbelievable?”

Frost shook. It didn’t seem unbelievable, and they hadn’t taken time to visit their kin, not for millennia. But the idea… the very concept that they were gone? The world would change, destabilize. It would have to, without the pillars of the primordials to hold it up. 

“It would be genocide.” They said, giving Sileal a hard look.

“Is it genocide if no-one realizes that it occured?” Sileal replied in a resigned tone. 

Frost knew they had to make sure, had to know the truth behind these statements. For if they were true, then the Evanuris could know of them. And they could already be planning an execution. While the world was now broken, and warped beyond healing, Frost knew that, if they had the chance, they may be able to make a difference. May be able to do something, even if only for the People, to help. Even if that meant taking a body, and losing everything that they were. 

**

Frost travelled first to the Northwest. The Wandering Hills were once supported by a spirit of Earth, who had helped create the land on which the People survived. Rather than her friend, Frost found lands teeming with life. Unfortunately, those lives were slaves. The People were building fortresses on the uneven terrain, working tirelessly in the heated summer sun. Frost flagged down a spirit of Knowledge, hoping to gain insight on what, exactly, had happened here. 

“These are the people of Sylaise,” the spirit intoned. “They build fortresses to her glory.” 

Frost balked at the words, for how could any one person’s glory be worth thousands of lives slaving over? She questioned the spirit further, inquiring after her friend. “And the spirit of Earth who once lived here, where has It gone? I can find no traces…”

Knowledge looked at her strangely. “I am unsure of what you ask. There is no spirit of earth, unless you speak of the Stone. And the stone lives far below us, supporting its own people.”

The fact that Knowledge had no inkling of Earth’s existence did not bode well for their search. Perhaps the spirit was newly formed, created from the minds of the people toiling away outside of the dreaming. Frost did not want to consider the alternative, that their friend had been so thoroughly destroyed that no traces anymore existed. 

Frost travelled South, and instead of a different friend found the realm of the Sou’silairmor. The spirits that lingered there were few and far between, and warped from their purpose. Further south were seemingly the lands of Andruil, and to the East, Mythal. A sprawling city of crystal in the far north was attributed to June, and south of him, mountainous land was claimed by Elgar’nan. Each place they looked they would find spirits- Knowledge, Wisdom, even Record, all of whom had no knowledge of Frost’s kin. All of which were uncomfortable in their presence. 

Nothing. 

There was nothing left, even in the forgotten places in the Dreaming. No wisps, even, that spoke of reformation. Simply places left empty, blank, and somehow needing fulfilment, only to have none. 

With each location Frost explored they became more desperate. For what could they do, without their kin? How could they possibly help the people, without any help themselves? Despair lapped at them, and Frost felt the healthy fear of corruption grow. They returned to Sileal, who had remained in its pocket of the Dreaming, perhaps awaiting Frost’s return. 

“Tell me of your plans.”

**

Frost had all but dragged Sileal back to Solas’s chambers as soon as it had explained his plans. Solas startled at their arrival (perhaps because Frost had announced it with a thick layer of snow descending on his quarters) and whipped around in his chair, nearly unseating himself. 

“Must you?” He snapped, brushing flakes from his hair and clothes as he looked up at the two new guests. His actions ceased when he took in Frost’s form. No longer an amorphous blob, but a shimmering Elvhen form, shaped similarly to Sileal. Incorporeal and completely undefined by gender, yet somehow still… well. 

“I must. It is in my nature.” The spirit said primly. Their face had no defining features, and yet Solas could almost sense, again, a smirk. “I have decided to help you in your goals. Therefore, I suppose I am offering my services to you.” Frost moved closer. “Make me a body.”

Solas was nonplussed. “It is not so simple as that. There are considerations, and Sileal, is this truly the wisest course of action?”

Sileal moved to Frost’s side and smiled at him. “Yes, Solas, it is. She has seen only some of the atrocities brought upon the people. She deserves the chance to take revenge, on their part,” the spirit glanced to its side, “and on its own. It has seen what was done to their kin. I believe we owe it a chance to avenge them. As the last of their kind.” 

Solas gave a sigh. Frost wondered if Sileal had been truthful in telling them that he wanted to avenge the People, and truly take down his fellow Elvhen. He certainly seemed hesitant in the moment, whereas before he had been so curious about them before. 

“Among the considerations,” Solas began, “are what form you choose to take. Have you decided on what you will look like? A gender, perhaps? Such things are not strictly necessary, but you will need a face, at the very least.” His pointed look at Frost, who quickly morphed their face to mirror his own. “Ah, I see you’ve chosen a most pleasing countenance,” hesaid with a smirk. 

“Ugh,” the spirit morphed away his features and gave a sigh. “I certainly feel feminine, as much as I am able, with no experience of gender. Though, I would prefer not to make a commitment. What other considerations do you have? You implied there were many.” At this probing, Solas gave a sigh. 

“As I am sure Sileal showed you, the Evanuris recently made a great bid for power. This gave them an enormous boost, some of which was granted to me. My master, Mythal, siphoned more than the others were aware of to me. As her most trusted general, she wanted me to have the power to rule by her side, hence her deception.” Frost noticed he was smirking now, and once again questioned his motives.

“If you are who I am to place trust in, to help restore the People, and their rightful power, may I advise you gloat less about the power you unrightfully gained? The light you are painting yourself in is not positive.” Indeed, everything about the man, she noticed, radiated smug-ness. From his hair, kept long and in intricate, shining, braids, to the un-humble, golden-embroidered tunic and breeches he donned. While vanity and pride worked hand in hand, Solas looked like a kept-man, rather than a revolutionary. 

He scoffed, not ashamed by their clear skepticism. “Do not mistake my pride as a man for complacency with the injustices to the People. I must play a part; the humble, spoiled dog to Mythal. My own people assume as much from me, not to mention the other Evanuris. If I am to gain their trust, I must play the part.

If my people knew the extent of my power, they would assume I am no better than the Evanuris. They would wonder if I intended to keep them as slaves, rather than free agents. This humble-” a snort from the spirit of frost, “and make no mistake, compared to the others this is humble, facade has been carefully crafted and maintained by Mythal and I, allowing me to operate without detection from the other Evanuris. And that brings me to the other, considerable consequences of crafting you a body.” 

Sileal frowned, but Frost gestured for him to continue, albeit somewhat impatiently. 

“I will not deny that I now have the power to do as much, but using that power, especially at one time, is noticeable. And with the attention that it will draw, my operations, my people, will be exposed to the wrath they came here to escape. While your death at the hands of those in power would be regrettable, I will not risk my people to keep one spirit alive. The needs of the many, and of the revolution, outweigh the help I believe you can provide.” 

“Solas!” Sileal snapped, horrified at his frank rejection. But before it could continue, Frost held out a hand. 

“I believe there is a simple solution to this problem.” Solas tilted his head to the side, interested. “Why not create a body in increments?” He choked at the concept, imagining creating a foot, and then a leg, and allowing them to roam his quarters, attached to a non-corporeal form.

“Absolutely not. If one of my followers entered my chambers and found, what, an inanimate torso, their fear of me would skyrocket. I will not be painted as a murderer to my own.” Frost moved closer, raising gooseflesh on his arms. 

“You forget, Pride, that I myself have power. What I need is not an empty vessel, but more of a boost, to form my own. If you are able to take the first step, I can finish the process. All you need do is share your aura with mine, and you can step away entirely from the process.” 

Solas reared back, astonished. He had, in the past, been propositioned many times, especially by those seeking power. Seeking a foothold in Mythal’s armies, or even to her bedchambers. But none of the propositions, from male, female, or other, had dared be so bold with him. In some ways, it was refreshing (for he had not been propositioned in such a way by a spirit, either) and deeply, scaldingly audacious. 

“Even if I found it within myself to consent to such an… invasion, you yourself admitted that it would be a process. The complication of my followers still stands. I am known to my people not for my privacy, but for my sociality. How would I explain shutting my quarters to them indefinitely while you crafted a vessel?” 

Sileal, who had been looking between the two as they argued, decided that this was the moment for its input. 

“Solas, as you yourself said, you are known for being social. Oftentimes, a bit too social, in the eyes of nobility and their...missing spouses. Perhaps rather than banning your people from your quarters, you can find a new lover, who is simply… shy, in the face of public scrutiny.” 

Solas frowned. 

“What help would taking a new, shy lover be in quarantining my quarters?” Sileal and Frost both let out sighs, and Solas felt as if he had missed something. Frost allowed him a few minutes to contemplate Sileal’s words, but when no realization crossed his face, they had pity on him. 

“It would be me, Pride. I would be the facsimile of a lover. I would remain in your quarters while I build and create a new form, and your followers would be none the wiser. With my power, and a small increment of yours, I believe it would take less than five weeks to have a fully corporeal form.

From what Sileal has told me, and from what is whispered throughout the Dreaming, your talents as a lover are nothing to balk at. Would five weeks sequestered in your quarters truly be so out-of-character? You are a lascivious man, are you not?” 

He wasn’t, really. No more so than any other Evanuris, or even one of the upper nobles. But rumors from when he served directly under Mythal had spread without control (because in the face of such great temptations, failing to imbibe would be more suspicious than not), and clearly the rumors were perpetuated by his own flirtations. Still, Solas had not realized the extent to which they had spread. 

“It would be out of character, for my people now see me as a righteous man, not one who hides in his chambers with a lover for weeks at a time. I believe that, though, if I continued my missions as normal and simply… implied a new presence, they would accept my having an indulgence. A casual dalliance, as it seems I am known to have.” He sighed. “But that still does not mean I can consent to mingling our auras. I trust you understand the violation the act represents, in these times, and how rare such a thing is.” Solas reached for his goblet of wine, fighting a headache. He’d not expected, in his initial curiosity of this spirit, that it would be so stubborn. Nor that it would gain Sileal’s trust and support after, seemingly, very few interactions.

Frost gestured to Sileal. “Indeed, Sileal shared with me the intimacy of the act after I helped refresh its energy while we traveled across the Dreaming.” An audible choking sound came from Solas’s throat, “which, I must say, is quite foolish. When I interacted with the People, now long ago I suppose, such an act was normal, and encouraged. The People had a mutualistic relationship, relying on one another to provide what was needed.

Your Evanuris stole that, Pride. Do you truly think that, for propriety’s sake, it is not worth sharing that experience? To help defeat them? While I have not gorged myself on the magics of the earth, my kin, nor have I taken power from the People.” Solas looked down in shame and noticed the wine he had choked on was now dribbling down the golden threads of his tunic, as Frost continued: “The power I hold is nothing to discount in this fight.”

Solas was, by no means, young, but this spirit easily had Ages on him. For as long as he could remember, even far before he took a body, the act of aura mingling was taboo and deeply, profoundly personal. He had never, in all of his years, considered it an act he could employ. It was not done, not even by Mythal, the best of the People. 

But… Solas spent much of his time conversing with spirits of Wisdom, especially in lieu of his rebellion. While he was still a spirit of Pride, he had hoped to one day become one, to amass the knowledge it took to help, and when it became clear Mythal wanted him, that hope had not died. Perhaps this spirit of frost was extending a hand to him, in allowing him to experience something that was lost to his people, something he could bring back, to help them grow once more. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the act that made him hesitate, but the fear at how the spirit would react to what they found. Solas did not know how aura mingling worked, exactly. His impression was that the second your aura touched another, it was stolen- taken and examined and perhaps even perverted, and that was not something he could risk losing. 

“I… perhaps. I will need to know more, about the process. What preparations must be made, and what I can expect to lose in the… transaction. I must not lose who I am, or any of my purpose. Your desire for revenge cannot prevent the rescue and freeing of the People, in any way,” Frost was now flickering, and Sileal seemed to be… laughing? “I do not see what is funny.” 

Sileal allowed a snicker. “Frost?”

“Right. The process of mingling auras is nothing like what you may have been taught. I will not be, what, sliding in to your mind and taking something? As I said, it was a mutualistic relationship. I will gain the benefit of some of your magic, temporarily, and you will gain a fraction of mine.” The spirit scoffed, “I can no more pervert your nature than could Sileal. I have no interest in what makes you a person, simply in a foreign magic that can help create. As one whose own body was crafted, your magic will intrinsically know what to do.” 

“You know, if I am to agree, and you are to act like a lover, it will require you not being so cold with me. Especially if we wish to fool others, the Evanuris specifically.” Solas snapped, feeling well and truly humiliated at the mocking turn the conversation had taken. How could he possibly know? He had never inquired with Sileal about the process, and Void-forbid he ask Mythal, who had taught him of the taboo in the first place. 

“You- you’re asking me to not be cold?” Frost asks, “are you unaware of my nature, somehow?” Sileal made no secret of its laughter now, allowing a distinctly un-wise sounding guffaw to permeate the air. 

“Sileal, you cannot be serious about this. He is a child,” Solas let out a noise of protest, “Yes, a child, as is clear by the wine on his tunic, the trepidation to learning, and his clear resistance to what could easily be the greatest ally possible in this war!” 

Solas, irritatedly, wiped the stain from his tunic with a simple cantrip. “What I meant, Spirit, is that if we are to fool others into thinking we are in love, you will need to act as a doting lover, something your cold attitude may find difficult. I am not known as an excessively fond suitor, and if this deception is to succeed, you must be the shy, selfish lover who is circumspect to let me leave their side.” 

Frost shot back, “Perhaps it is not I that wishes to remain in your quarters, but you who is the selfish, possessive partner. My lack of affection is not my problem, and as I said, it is in my nature to speak and act in the manner I do. As I suspect it is in yours to shift any conflict you have to others. Pride.” 

“I will remind you who is seeking a body in this interaction! It seems quite clear that I have been opposed! You require my help, I would suggest you act a bit more… beholden to me, as I am clearly the only being you can so easily reach out to!” Solas’s hand slammed on the table, upsetting his wine and spilling it over the missives spread around. “Nuuta!”

Frost examined him in surprise, and then glanced to Sileal, who pointedly avoided their gaze. “He knows the Old Language? That should be lost to time. It should have remained there.” 

“It was one of our first exchanges,” Sileal said sheepishly. “He wanted to know the curses.” Frost looked again at Solas, this time appraisingly. Few knew the Old Language, even before the Evanuris. Those words held power. Even among Frost’s kin, only two knew it in its entirety. The other had perished long before Mythal and Elgar’nan. Frost had assumed they were the only one who knew it in this broken time. Perhaps… If he had thought to seek this knowledge… 

Frost knew when to cease teasing, and when to give in a fight. Perhaps they were developing a grudging respect for the Elvhen man. Sure, he was cocky and quick to defend himself, but his actions were clearly righteous (though misguided, if he thought Mythal the best of his people), and if he thought to learn the Old Language, there was more to this child than first met the eye. 

“You are (cocky, disrespectful) correct. I offer apologies, and when our exchange is complete, I shall offer the utmost fealty. It appears that I need you more than you need me, and I have been acting remiss.” Solas frowned, searching for a trap in the words. “Will you consent to helping me, if I agree to whatever you ask?”

“I do not wish for a slave, Frost. Simply for considerations of how this will impact my reputation, and the future of my rebellion. All I ask is that you not act in clear disrespect to me, at least not in front of my people. Play the adoring lover, until you are fully formed.” He said carefully. 

The spirit nodded. Solas sighed. “What do I need to prepare? Is there a rune, or certain ingredients…?” 

Frost drew themself forward until they were almost touching the man. “I need a drop of your blood. To draw the magic from.” Solas looked up in shock-they were doing this now? Perhaps it was for the best, he could not renege on his consent, and the process could end quicker. Though he would be unable to prepare his people for a visiting lover… it was not like he had warned them of such before. Perhaps now was as good a time as any. 

“Have you decided what you wish to look like? I suspect you’ll need an image in your mind. Mythal told me as much when she crafted this form.” Frost seemingly gazed at him from an amorphous face. 

“I will pick the form when I wish. This is more to give an impression of the process, so I can create the magic.”

Solas nodded in trepidation, and drew a letter-opener from his desk and pricked his finger with it, allowing a drop of blood to well. Before he could ask what to do next, the room exploded in colour. 

It was as if he’d never truly experienced sight before this moment- everything was defined so sharply that it almost hurt to look for too long. The sun from his windows, the lick of the orange flames in his hearth, even the blood on his finger were more clear than he’d ever seen. Even as a spirit, he did not think he had ever seen so clearly. And the power- the power washed over him and embraced him, cold and utterly enveloping. He could almost imagine that he was lying in a bank of snow, being buried there, but utterly content. The power was astonishing. Even though he was only experiencing a fraction, he felt stronger than ever. Any trace of exhaustion, any ache, disappeared. Even the aches from the battle in the previous days were gone, a frigid comfort replacing them. 

His magic was full, overflowing, and he suddenly felt Frost. 

The spirit stole nothing, simply basked in his magic, for only a moment, before the room exploded in an icy flurry of snow. Solas wished the moment could have lasted, even a lifetime. The spirit felt right with him, and he understood the true intimacy of aura mingling, and even as he looked out on his own quarters, now thoroughly buried under a meter of snow, he longed to join with the spirit again. 

But it- Frost was no longer a spirit. Not exactly. 

Solas dropped to his knees in the snow, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. There was a form, clearly Elvhen (and naked), huddled in the snow. But it wasn't… whole. He couldn’t determine gender, and the only truly clear feature was the eyes. Piercing, orange eyes. 

Something must have gone wrong. But the creature (elvhen?) looked up to meet his eyes. Grinned, with a mouth full of teeth just on the edge of too sharp. It reached a hand out, to smack snow off his shoulders. The snow moved easily. The hand continued through his arm. Solas flinched back, the feeling of pure ice seizing his limb for a moment. The creature (Frost?) paused and glared at its hand. 

“Well. Perhaps being corporeal was too much to ask.” The voice was high and sharp, clearly feminine. The same, too-sharp grin flashed across its (her?) face. “With time, I’m sure it’ll come to me. For now, I can certainly do this!” And Solas received a face-full of downy snow. He sat back with an incredulous look. Certainly, this was the spirit he had recently met. 

“I suppose we shall have to work on your people-skills.” Said with a sigh. This was met with a cackle on Frost’s part, and a small giggle from Sileal. 

“I humbly offer my own skills for that,” the only remaining spirit in the room stated. “If I recall correctly, I was the one tasked with teaching you the same, Solas. Perhaps teaching a spirit fifteen times your age will be easier.” Solas gazed apprehensively at the newly formed creature. 

“Somehow, I sincerely doubt that, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term Sou'silairmor is blatantly taken from HumblePeasants incredible OC/Solas fic, The Guardian. It's an insanely good fic, and I can't recommend it enough! If I knew how to hyperlink here, I would, but for now, its on AO3, please look it up! Their character is so incredibly fascinating, and I can only hope that one day Frost can be as fleshed out as Maordrid!

**Author's Note:**

> well... It's been about six years since I've written anything! I'd like to thank my very very best friend Wes for Beta'ing for me, he's a literal prince! The first few chapters will be world-building and establishing characters, and I've planned some pretty heavy drama that takes place in Elvhenan, but YES the fic will go through inquisition and beyond. I attempted to write Solas in Iambic Pentameter, but I figured I could be somewhat lax while he's still such a young and cocky kid. He WILL become wise, but for now he's rather... well. Most of the story will be from Frost's perspective, but for the first chapter that wasn't really feasible to make the lore make sense. The battle mentioned at the beginning IS mentioned in Inquisition, when you click on Falon'Din's mural in Mythal's temple. Solas talks about it, and he sounds gorgeous, as always! I'd recommend having a listen.


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